The Last Letter
by Calcifersgrl
Summary: "...Nothing will be announced until the sculptors have finished refashioning a goldenwood throne for a queen." The Marquis of Shevraeth finishes a letter to Mel, and does some thinking


The Last Letter  
By Calcifersgrl  
  
Author's Note: Although I wish I owned CD and its wonderful characters, I don't. All of it belongs to Sherwood Smith, who is a fantastic author. (Hopefully, this isn't too bad. I wrote this last year, when there wasn't a Sherwood Smith section, and never put it up.) It's short.   
  
***  
I finished the letter with a flourish of the pen. I laid it down and stretched out my hand. Picking the paper up, I read it over to make sure it was intelligible and understandable.  
  
You ask why there has been no formal announcement concerning a coronation. I think this question is better addressed to the person most concerned, but I do know this: Nothing will be announced until the sculptors have finished refashioning a goldenwood throne for a queen.  
  
As I read it over, - I couldn't help suppress it – a shiver of excitement rose up my backbone. I wondered how Meliara would react. Just thinking her name caused past memories of her, redolent of last year's encounters, to invade my brain. Her facing Galdran's court, without a trace of fear on her face, her arguing over the best way to govern, her and I racing our horses . . . I still had a wager to collect . . . . Good god, I thought, smacking myself on the forehead with a silken glove. I was in love. Madly and desperately in love with Meliara Astiar of Tlanth. Madly was quite the right word for it. I would have cast away all pride and licked her slippers had she asked me to. But she hadn't requested. She hardly spoke to me, always trying to avoid any awkward confrontations. She didn't love me. Or did she? My eyebrow furrowed (an annoying habit I had yet to get rid of) as I recalled Russav's curious statement.  
  
***  
Three days ago, Russav and I had been cleaning up after a particularly heated debate in the Petitioner's Court. I was lost in thought – I'll admit I was thinking about her – but how could Russav know? He elbowed me hard in the side, hardly suitable behavior for a Duke. He winked at me.   
  
"Still thinking about her, aren't you?"   
  
"Who?" I stammered, caught off guard. (I'll have you know, I never stammer. I'm known for my glib tongue and arrogant aristocratic smoothness.)  
  
"Your petite mouse in chain mail," he responded, grinning good-naturedly.  
  
"At least she's not an ill-tempered ice queen," I said in retort, sounding very much like an injured schoolboy, referring to his mercurial love, Tamara.  
  
I had been caught unaware, although I took care not to show it (mainly to hold on to what little remained of my ego.) Somehow, all the times that I had been sneaking glances at Meliara, Russav had known. But how? I was known in my circles to have perfected the Court face. I had long schooled it into a mask that I might discard as I chose. But falling in love must have let my guard down, around Russav anyway. I should have known better; as my sole confidant, he knew me inside out. Uneasily, I wondered just how obvious I was. The servants knew . . . Russav knew . . . . Unbidden, a memory stirred in my mind. Flauvic's golden eyes glancing first to Meliara, to me, and then resting like a fly on her again. Then his heavy lids lifted up to reveal amused, but calculating honey irises. Startled, the realization shot up my spine, like the bolt that lets you distinguish dreams from reality after you wake from a nightmare. He knew. And now I knew he knew, though I did not know how much this belated awareness would cost me.   
  
Russav was oblivious to the agonizing swirl of thoughts that swarmed my head. "True, true," he said. "I cannot say any ill about your love, as I am partial to her." Then he laughed. "I could have laughed at all those social gatherings. I'd be a fool not to see how the first person you'd look for was her. And she – well, I should not speak for her." He punched me playfully in the arm, and then continued, "Imagine that? My quiet, serious, sophisticated cousin falling in love with an ignorant, inexperienced Countess! Your situation, Danric, is the epitome of the newfangled saying, 'Opposites attract.'"  
  
"Did she say something about me?" I asked, eager for some news, letting his last comment slip by. Then, I nonverbally admonished myself for not being able to contain my eagerness. It was too easy to slip up, I thought. But then again, it did not matter. Flauvic knew. In fact, everyone knew. Everyone except the one who counted most, Meliara.   
  
"My lips are sealed," said Russav.   
  
I grumbled, very un-aristocratically.   
  
"If my opinion counts for anything . . ." he began.  
  
"It doesn't," I muttered under my breath.  
  
" . . . I think you have a chance with her." He had this sly, secretive smile pasted on his face – which made me think twice.  
  
"Russav," I said warningly, "You're up to something."  
  
"What?" he asked, shrugging his shoulders and raising his dark eyebrows. "If I am indeed up to something, dear cousin, I'll be sure to let you know," he winked, "- but until then, you'll just have to wait, along with the rest of the Court . . . ."  
  
***  
  
Puzzling over his last comment as I sat finishing up the last touches of the letter, I knew Russav – that dratted Savona – was planning something big. Very big. Something that could wind up with Meliara and I being drastically humiliated, awkward, and hating each other. Or rather, her hating me even more than she did now.  
  
My thoughts turned to Flauvic Merindar, who was by good reason called "the Flower," though I did think of him more as a "Rose" – beautiful, but with all the deadly thorns still intact. I could feel it, this black radiating aura around him. The blackest sheep in the whole infamous Merindar family . . . . Well, perhaps, I was being a little biased . . . But I knew that although he hadn't acted yet, he was just waiting. Waiting for the right moment to execute. You could never trust the quiet ones; they always had the most to hide. Unlike his mother and sister, the Marquisse and Fialma, whose ambitions and plans were an open book to all, Flauvic hid his intelligence behind a mask. I had this gut feeling that he was just waiting to make trouble, worse than Galdran could ever stir up. I had always trusted my instincts; they had never been wrong, and my surety about this feeling was almost one hundred percent . . . .  
  
Now, I knew I was being more than a little bit biased.   
  
I grudgingly admitted to myself that were it not for the fact that Meliara kept in contact with Flauvic, the fact that she had been to the Merindar house several times, that she was seen kissing him, I would never have raised my suspicions to Flauvic. Nevertheless, having this heightened misgiving about him, I saw what other courtiers missed when they were around him. Oh, they saw the obvious, the pretty playboy of the Court. They spoke among themselves in hushed whispers about the many women who languished after him; the ladies who fell at his feet, hoping to be the one for him. But I saw how he shrewdly sized up the people around him from beneath lowered lashes. I saw the smile, the affectation that he induced to delude others into thinking that he was just another "court decoration." (I had adopted Meliara's hated description of the courtier; it always provoked a smile on my face.) I saw this – after all, I did the same thing last year in order to hide my true intent from Galdran. Although I was loathe to admit it, Flauvic and I were more alike than I wished to acknowledge. Cousins, even. Both vying for the hand of one certain Countess.   
  
My spirits dropped. A new feeling emerged from my gut; bile laced up my throat. It was a hopeless cause, whatever Russav may say. For all I knew, Meliara had allied herself with Flauvic, and therefore the Merindar family . . . .   
  
With a sigh, I finally turned my diverging attention back to the letter I held in my hand. Reading over its contents once more, the sudden despair vanished just as abruptly as it had appeared as a much nicer feeling overcame it – hope. It spurt up my entire being, much like the jolt gotten from the pricking of a thorn, but in a pleasant way.   
  
Meliara had been nicer to me recently. And as her thoughts were always scrawled over her face, I saw the awkwardness that surrounded her whenever we approached each other. Was this a sign that she didn't hate me? As much as I wanted to tell her face to face that I loved her – what of the Unknown? Meliara liked the Unknown. She was perfectly willing to correspond with him and produce a sort-of courtship by letter with him. But the Unknown was me. What if she found out I was the Unknown; would her feelings change?   
  
The questions piled in my head, remaining unanswered for the time being. Much as I hated to leave things to fate, that was all I could do. Wait and see … how I hated those words!   
  
So this was it. It was a perilous thing to risk one's heart, but I was grimly determined. What-if's clouded my eyes, but I pushed them away. I was going to risk my heart, and there was no turning back. Come to think of it, I had lost my heart a while ago, what was the danger in risking something that did not belong to me anymore? I answered myself: losing my pride, losing Meliara . . . .  
  
I would lose her anyway if I did not do anything "drastic" soon. Perhaps, with this letter, and its subtle mention of me (soon-to-be-king), goldenwood thrones, and queens, she could fill in the gaps and make some connection. Perhaps . . . .  
  
I took a deep breath, slid the fateful letter into an envelope, and summoned my servant to deliver it to her. I watched the letter walk away from me, but the nervousness did not seize me like I had expected it to. Instead, I grinned. The future was an unknown thing. Nebulous and inscrutable. Much like a Court mask. But inscrutability was my specialty. I had a feeling about this letter, a good feeling. And my instincts had never failed me before.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Crown and Court Duel Outtakes   
By Le Reine Angelique  
  
[From Crown Duel: "Giving a wail of sheer rage, I plucked a heavy silver candle-holder and flung it straight at his head."]  
Mel: Aaaaugh! *throws candle-holder*  
Vidanric: Oof . . . Ouch! *a much delayed reaction as he DOESN'T catch the candle-holder. He topples over on the ground*  
Mel: *squeaking and anxious* Uh, Marquis? Are you okay?  
Vidanric: *grumbles and sits up* Sure I'm okay. You only conked me in the forehead with one of MY OWN candle-holders.  
Mel: Sorry  
Vidanric: Tis no matter. Luckily, I knew something of this sort would happen. *fingers candle-holder and bends it* I had one of my genuine silver ones copied. See, this is rubber.  
Mel: *annoyed* You made me waste an apology on you?! Aaaaugh! *grabs a real candle-holder and throws it at his head*  
Vidanric: *squawks and keels over backward, unconscious*  
Mel: [several seconds of silence pass] Okay, game's over. Get up. *Vidanric is motionless* Marquis? Shevraeth? Vidanric? *Pokes his leg with a prodding foot* [there is no motion] Oops . . .  
  
[From Court Duel]  
The Unknown had written:  
You ask why there has been no formal announcement concerning a coronation. I think this question is better addressed to the person most concerned, but I do know this: Nothing will be announced until the sculptors have finished refashioning a goldenwood throne for a queen.  
  
Mel: Aah! Elenet! Shevraeth! *faints*  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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End file.
